


New Beginnings

by kaiserincapulet



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, Romeo et Juliette - Presgurvic, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Canon, Reconciliation, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6688228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiserincapulet/pseuds/kaiserincapulet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benvolio receives a couple of very special visitors at Romeo and Juliet’s funeral. Based on Gérard Presgurvic's Romeo et Juliette, de la Haine a l'Amour/Les Enfants de Verone but mostly Shakespeare-compatible. (Originally posted on Tumblr on November 4, 2015.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Beginnings

Benvolio could handle the sounds of sirens waking him up at a frankly unreasonable hour. He could handle all the annoying reporters shoving cameras and microphones into his face. He could handle the forced displays of sympathy from people he barely knew. He could handle the memorial pages on Facebook and Instagram, with comments from people who had never set foot anywhere near Verona.

What he could not handle was the sight of Romeo and Juliet, dressed up in fancy clothes and piled with so much makeup he had trouble recognizing them, lying motionless in their caskets. He could not handle the omnipresent thoughts of how he should have done something. He should have taken action, should have read Juliet’s letter before tearing it up, should have done anything it took to keep his cousin alive.

“ _Don’t cry for them, Benvolio_.” He heard an unfamiliar voice saying. It felt as if it were coming from inside his own head, echoing off the walls of his mind.

He whipped around angrily, ready to confront its owner if necessary. His gaze fell upon a woman, dressed in tattered, trailing white shrouds with dark, braided hair so long it dragged along the floor behind her. She was beautiful, but he knew with absolute certainty that he had never seen her before.

“Who are you?” he demanded, not caring about the heads that turned in his direction. 

“ _You know me. Everyone knows me_.”

He suddenly recalled his trip to Mantua, the feeling that someone had been watching him. His gaze fell back to the caskets.

“Death.”

She did not say anything, placing a hand over his on the edge of the wood as he stood over Romeo.

“Why are you here? Haven’t you done enough?” he asked bitterly.

“ _I’m always around, but the only ones who see me are the ones who call out to me_.”

Benvolio’s eyes remained determinedly fixed on Romeo and Juliet. He felt her hand, caressing his cheek, forcing his attention back to her.

“ _Do you want me, Benvolio?_ ”

“The only thing I want is them back. Romeo, Juliet, Mercutio-everyone.”

Death sighed, withdrawing her hand. “ _Do not pity the dead, my dear. Pity the living._ ”

“Cliches aren’t gonna make me feel better.”

She shrugged. “ _Maybe not, but remember this: you cannot give up now. Not when you still have so much to live for._ ”

“Like what?” He wondered what there was left for him to do. He could not simply return to a life of mindless hedonism, drinking until he forgot that any of them had ever existed. There was no fun in being king of the world if he ruled alone.

Death smiled. “ _Just trust me._ ”

“Benvolio?”

He reacted immediately, welcoming the chance to interact with a living human. The choice was quickly regretted when he saw who was calling for him.

“Rosaline.” He remembered her well, remembered the nights Romeo had spent crying over her rejections, the terrible poetry that had been written about and for her.

“Hey, are you still mad at me for…y’know.”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t really feel anything right now.”

“Right. How have you been?” Rosaline already knew the answer, but could not think of anything better to say.

“I’m not okay, but I think I’m gettin’ there.” 

“Yeah…hey, do you mind if we just start over?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She nodded. “Like, I’m not a Capulet, you’re not a Montague, we’re just people.”

“I think I can do that.” He extended his hand. “Benvolio.”

“Rosaline,” she said with a smile, shaking his hand.

Benvolio heard laughter, but when he searched for Death, she was nowhere to be seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, first fic on here! Well, if we ignore that it was already posted on my Tumblr a really, really long time ago.
> 
> The original author's note for this said it was in Hungarian musical-verse, but I think that's incorrect, especially since all of my attempts to write Benvolio result in Cyril Niccolai and only Cyril Niccolai. Of course, the La Mort here is the one played by Anne Mano in the original 2001 French production, since I'm of the (unpopular?) opinion that no other La Mort will ever come close to hers. Rosaline, on the other hand, is based on the version of her that I use in my RP (because I'm a hack, that's why).
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed whatever this is!


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